


They Always Send Assassins

by AkiRah



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Best Friends being Best Friends, Gen, Gender-Queer afab Hawke, Purple Hawke, There is no way Hawke failed to notice the assassins coming after Varric on occasion, the one story varric can't tell, trust excercises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric returns from one of his rendezvous with Bianca Davri and realizes that he has unwittingly put Hawke in danger because of it. Hawke, being Hawke, doesn't particularly care about that part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Always Send Assassins

The boat ride back to Kirkwall was one of the few moments when Varric would let himself brood. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel Bianca’s goodbye kiss on his mouth and who knew how long it would be until they managed to meet up _again_. 

And all because she got engaged and then _married_.

That wasn’t fair. It hadn’t been her choice. Her choice had been to bail on her first wedding to be with him, a statement, more than anything else, making her will known even if it was ultimately pointless (and, as they learned, dangerous for Varric). 

It would be better if he moved on and they both knew it. But there was no moving past Bianca, no matter how many times he called himself an idiot and an asshole under his breath. 

The chains came into view and Varric took cold comfort in knowing that it was over, again, for a little while. He had his life in Kirkwall, stable and steady and full of problems he could handle with coin and calculation. 

And Hawke. 

That was probably the biggest difference, Varric realized as the boat docked. He ached less about Bianca because he wasn’t just coming back to Bartrand or to the Guild or even to the Hanged Man. He was coming back to Hawke.

* * *

“How was your trip?” Hawke asked as Varric stepped off the boat. He was reminded once again that gender, like other commonly accepted constructs (narrative causality, occasionally physics) only rarely ever applied to his friend. They were leaning against the wall, peeling an apple with their knife instead of just biting into it like they did when comfortably surrounded by friends they trusted. Their smile was thin and aloof, not its usual brazen brightness. 

“If you’re trying to impress me, you’ve got a ways to go,” he chuckled, striding over with his hands spread wide. “Normally a woman waiting for her true love looks somewhat more desperate.”

“It’s true,” Hawke fluttered their eyebrows dramatically and let the apple fall to the ground. “Oh _Varric_!” They brought a hand to their forehead and spoke in a theatrical, breathy voice. “Oh how I _longed_ for your arms these aching nights.” Hawke twisted with a graceful pirouette and dropped, swooning into Varric’s waiting arms as easily as if they had fallen into a settee. 

“Now Hawke, you know I’m spoken for.” 

Reclining as though bent eighty degrees at the knee was perfectly comfortable Hawke sighed. “Bianca stands in my way again does she?” 

“She’s the jealous-type.” Varric comisserated.

“Surely, Varric, our love is stronger than the chains of affection that bind one dwarf to one crossbow?” Hawke said pressing one hand over their heart with the finesse of a bad stage actor. “Surely _ours_ is a love that transcends such simple monogamies.” 

“Taking lessons from Broody?” 

“I’m _much_ louder than Fenris.” Hawke announced as though it were a point of pride, righting themselves. “Anyway, how was your trip?” They grinned, bright as the damn sun.

“It was good, and--” Varric drew out the word and reached into his pack. “I finished the first chapter.” He offered over the pages, bound loosely together. “It’s only a first draft, but I thought you’d want to see.”

“Thought you didn’t give sneak peeks.” 

“What can I say, you’re special.” 

Hawke’s eyes went wide and their smile grew. “I still can’t believe you’re _writing_ this.” 

“Of course I am. You’ve got a fucking story and if anyone’s making money of it, it’s going to be me.” Varric replied. “I’ve got it up to the point where we met, based on what you told me.” 

“You fit my _entire_ escape from Lothering and arrival in Kirkwall into one chapter?” Hawke raised a skeptical eyebrow and looked at the pages in their hands, falling into automatic step with Varric as they headed for the ferry that would take them from the Gallows to Kirkwall proper. 

“More like a chapter and a half.” 

“I’m _so glad_ my best friend can sum up the most stressful days of my life in a chapter.” Hawke chuckled and settled against the railing of the ferry. 

“And a _half_. What can I say, it’s a gift.” 

“Your face is a gift.” Hawke muttered. 

“You drop those pages and I’ll have you killed.” Varric warned. 

“Please, I didn’t drop _Carver_ , how likely am I to drop these?” Hawke grinned and turned their eyes to the page.

>   
>  Smoke rose in thick black plumes from Lothering as the Darkspawn horde advanced, destroying everything in its wake.  
>  “Maker, there’s no end to them.”  
>  “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Garrett Hawke ran a hand through his mop of unkempt black hair as his family caught their breath. He was a tall man, broad in the shoulders with a cocky smile permanently affixed to his features. “Maybe they’ll run out of darkspawn.”  
>  “Our home. Everything we had.” His mother, Leandra, choked down a sob. “Maker, it’s all gone.”  
>  “We’re not dead yet,” Garrett contributed, donning a smile to reassure his mother that it was all going to be alright. “That’s something.”  
>  “We can’t just keep running forever.” Bethany caught her breath, leaning heavily on her twin brother Carver’s arm.  
>  “I’ve been running since Ostagar.” Carver reminded.  
>  “As long as we’re running _away_ from the darkspawn, I’m happy.” Garrett shrugged. “We need to keep moving.” 

Hawke looked up from the page. “So _that’s_ why you asked mother what she had planned on naming me if she hadn’t gone with _Marian_.”

“You like it?” Varric grinned, settling beside them against the railing, facing the ever-approaching dock. “Thought it was the best way to respect your gender-weirdness and keep you out of trouble, because, let’s be honest, you do a lot of illegal shit.” He laughed and shook his head. “Anyway. It is _she_ today, isn’t it?” 

Hawke shrugged as they always did when asked. “I’m not wearing the beard.” 

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric shook his head and clicked his tongue in disbelief, “I can’t believe you wear that thing out in public.” 

“I like it.” Hawke shrugged. “If I remember to bind no one even bats an eyelash at it.”

“ _If_ you remember to bind. Half the time people are wondering why my bearded friend is hiding apples in his shirt.” 

“ _Apples_?” Hawke gave an offended scoff. “ _Melons_ at very bloody least.”

“Melons it is, Hawke. Melons it is.”

* * *

The Hanged Man stank but it was a familiar, comforting stink. Beer and sweat and the smoke from the fires, all made sweet by fond associations when Varric and Hawke stepped into the tavern. Hawke ordered drinks while Varric hefted his bags to his room, ready to unpack and settle in. 

He set his bags by the bed and unslung Bianca from his back, setting her on the mattress and running his eyes over a new scratch he would need to attend to that evening. He had a moment where he imagined what a perfect life was like, where Bianca’s organized chaos mixed with his: sketches and tools strewn in the same places as ink wells and rough drafts. Where her bills got mixed up with his and where Hawke was bringing up three drinks, not two. 

It wasn’t possible, and Varric liked to pretend that even if it _had_ been possible it would have been miserable so this was better. 

This was not better.

“This trip took a lot out of you,” Hawke said from behind him. They set the drinks on the table and crossed their arms to study him. “What was it for anyway?” 

“Bianca just needed a tune up,” Varric replied with a smile, taking a large drink from his mug. “Involved dealing with some less-scrupulous carta members.”

“As opposed to the _upstanding_ carta members we _usually_ work with?” Hawke chuckled. 

“Precisely.” 

Varric settled into his chair and Hawke perched on the table like an uncivilized ruffian while listening to his stories about the trip and sharing choice pieces of gossip about their companions. Merrill had managed to misunderstand her was _out_ of being mugged, Fenris almost got arrested for lurking suspiciously outside the Viscount’s Keep. Isabela had lead Hawke into a spider-filled cave and Anders had adopted a cat but no one knew where it had gone. 

Varric wrote some parts down, laughing as he did. “The shit that happens to you,” he said under his breath. 

“The shit that happens to _us_ ,” Hawke reminded. “You were there for the dragons.” 

“Maker, don’t remind me.” 

There was a creak that interrupted their conversation. It sounded almost like a hinge giving way but the door hadn’t moved. Varric and Hawke caught eyes and Hawke made a rapid gesture with their fingers. The barrier went up just in time to block the bolt aimed for Varric’s neck. 

“ _Assassins_!” Hawke rolled to the side as a dwarf dropped from the ceiling and buried a knife into the table where they’d been sitting a moment before. Hawke swung with their staff and caught the assailant in the head in the same smooth motion as lightning broke through their open palm and paralyzed the first assassin long enough for Varric to put a bolt into her neck. 

It wasn’t a long fight, or a difficult fight, but it was the first one they’d had in Varric’s rooms and so it was worthy of mention. 

Varric looked from the corpse to Hawke and swallowed. He’d put them in danger. He was supposed to be a better friend than that. After everything that had happened in the deep roads, after everything he and Hawke had been through, he had been the _reason_ Hawke had to fend off assassins. 

Hawke was studying the corpses. “Huh. No brands.” They turned. “Is this a “bodies in the sea” situation or a “report the crime to Aveline so she can pretend we’re useful” sort of thing?” 

“Either.” Varric nudged the body with his boot. “You alright, Hawke?” 

“I’m fine. I’m guessing they were after you.” Hawke frowned. “Stay at my place tonight? We’ve got the room.” 

“That won’t be--”

“It’ll make me feel better.” 

Varric exhaled. “Alright Hawke. So you don’t get nightmares.”

* * *

Varric was given Carver’s Room for the night. He wondered if Junior knew that setting aside a bedroom at the Hawke estate had been his sibling’s idea, not his mothers, but Varric figured it didn’t much matter. Carver clung to the chip on his shoulder with almost dwarven determination. If Bethany had been anything like as stubborn as either of her siblings, Varric wondered how Leandra and Malcolm Hawke had managed. 

He oiled Bianca down and carefully buffed the wood until she glowed in the firelight. 

“My baby girl,” he head Leandra from the room over. “Is that a knife wound?” 

“It’s fine, mother.” Hawke’s voice joined their mother’s. “It wasn’t deep. I didn’t even notice it.” 

“I just. I worry so much about you my darling--”

“I know. I try and be careful.” 

“You’re not a good liar, Marian.” 

“Not to _you_ maybe. But seriously, I didn’t even notice the cut.”

Varric set the oil aside. If this was going to be the last time this happened, there would be no reason to tell Hawke. He _couldn’t_ tell Hawke anyway, not all of it. But it wouldn’t be the last time. The Davris _always_ sent assassins. Everytime he saw Bianca he put himself in danger, now he’d be putting Hawke in danger as well. 

The responsible thing would have been to pick. To choose Hawke over Bianca and let his heart move on. It would keep Hawke safe and forcing himself to move past the now-married love of his life was probably a wise move, both personally and professionally. 

Since he _definitely_ wasn’t about to do that, the only thing he could do was warn Hawke about the assassins. Of course, Hawke would ask why someone was sending assassins after him and any lie Varric told would be exposed when his half-wit companion decided to _deal_ with it. Hawke would either get themselves killed or wipe out half-the coterie, carta, whatever else Varric blamed it on. 

Maybe there was a compromise in there somewhere.

* * *

“So, Varric.” Hawke spoke around a mouthful of apple before swallowing. “About those assassins. They weren’t carta. Something happening with the Merchant’s Guild?” 

Varric sighed. “In a manner of speaking. Look, Hawke, it’s about . . . Bianca.” 

Hawke’s eyes immediately darted for the crossbow. 

“No. It’s about. Shit. I--”

“She’s a hell of a lady,” Hawke interrupted.

Varric went slack jawed until he realized Hawke was _probably_ talking about the crossbow. He corrected, but it was too late and Hawke was too clever. He waited for the questions to start, but they didn’t. Hawke just took another bite of apple, chewed slowly and then swallowed. 

“This gonna happen every time you take her for a tune-up?”

“Eh . . . probably?” 

“Can’t tell the story?” 

“I really can’t.” 

Hawke nodded. “Works for me. I’ll keep my eyes open whenever you get back then.”

“You don’t--aren’t you at all curious?” 

Hawke laughed. “Naturally. But you wouldn’t keep it to yourself if you had a choice, I know you well enough to know that. Whoever she is,” and here Hawke nodded towards the crossbow, “matters less to me than knowing you’ll be alright.” 

“I’ll be alright,” Varric confirmed. 

“And if the others ask,” Hawke stood up, “We’ll tell them they’re trying to get to me through you. People will buy that. Fuck, I’d buy that. This is your story, Varric, no sneak peeks ‘til you’re ready to give them.” 

“Thanks Hawke.” Varric managed, feeling tossed around and off balance for once in a very rare moment. “I appreciate it.” 

“Just one favor,” Hawke grinned. “Someday, if we get the chance? I want to meet Bianca. The _real_ Bianca. Whoever she is.” 

“Someday, Hawke.” Varric confirmed. “Someday.”


End file.
